Sunday, April 22, 2007


The world remembers, not just those
who won for themselves, victories galore.
So long as you fight, an earnest fight,
no one cares, if you were dark or white.

Glory is his, who lives for the battle,
whose attack leaves opposition rattled.
A path to possible victory, one who chose,
inspires poets, to abandon prose.

Farewell to thee, prince of trinidad and tobago.
the last of the windies, around whom did we rally.
We shall miss , on the pitch, your waltz and the tango,
the centuries that racked up your tally.

How you disptached both pace and spin,
to parts of the stadium, crying for attention.
The way you surged past, Tendulkar Sachin,
became the best batsman of this generation.

The way you disdained from using your pads,
ensuring bat and ball, did always meet.
Never was a day, you moped around,
your bat made a music, always sweet.

The way you collected multiple tons,
when mortals were satisfied, with just one.
When you chased down a target, impossible they said,
you shrugged and got the job done.

The way you were atlas, bearing the weight,
while dwarfs around you, deserted the sinking ship.
We hail you more, for bearing the brunt,
yet never devaluing your craftsmanship.

You left, on top, throne never conquered,
leave it safe, from any usurper.
Walk away, son of port of spain, with a head high,
rest assured, there's not a single dry eye.

Never shall we see the likes of you again,
wish you luck, as you move on.
It was said, of Bradman once,
i say to you,
Brightly fades the don.